Papers by karel vanspringel
Il Cristo di Castelpoggio
resurrezione... Contesto Maria, madre nubile, vive con Gesù a Castelpoggio. Lì crebbe e imparò il... more resurrezione... Contesto Maria, madre nubile, vive con Gesù a Castelpoggio. Lì crebbe e imparò il mestiere di scultore da Giuseppe. All'età di 17 anni entrò in Lunigiana per predicare la pace. È il tempo duro del fascismo e c'è molta divisione e inequalità tra gli abitanti dei villaggi, politicamente e economicamente. Gesù predica la riconciliazione e la solidarietà. È visto con sospetto sia dai fascisti che dai partigiani. Sulla via del ritorno a Castelpoggio, viene arrestato una sera d'estate mentre trasporta a cavallo un partigiano ferito. Viene imprigionato a Carrara e l'ufficiale delle SS locali vuole usare Gesù per privare definitivamente gli abitanti della voglia di resistere all'occupazione tedesca. Prima scena: interrogatorio e condanna Sul palco c'è un lungo tavolo con 5 sedie. Lato sinistro: alcune sedie per i testimoni Lato destro: un plotone di soldati tedeschi In primo piano, con le spalle rivolte al pubblico, Gesù Giudice e pubblico ministero prendono posto. Avvocato, assegnato a Gesù. Cancelliere e commissario locale del partito fascista.
Speels bijbelse rollen verkennen met kinderen en volwassenen
Karel Vanspringel
Een verzameling verhalen wereldwijd rond een cultuur van solidariteit, gerechtigheid en geweldloo... more Een verzameling verhalen wereldwijd rond een cultuur van solidariteit, gerechtigheid en geweldloosheid.
Tu assassino del mio corpo e ladro della corona sul mio capo!" Ragazza violentata Lo stupro è una... more Tu assassino del mio corpo e ladro della corona sul mio capo!" Ragazza violentata Lo stupro è una morte spirituale per la donna, la ragazza che ne è vittima. La persona violentata vive, ma è psicologicamente in uno stato di completa confusione, assenza e disperazione. Si è, per così dire, strappati alla propria vita e posti in un ambiente ostile, minaccioso, senza amore, senza speranza, senza fiducia. Nella leggenda di Santa Dimpna, il momento della sua decapitazione coincide narrativamente con l'incesto annunciato di suo padre. Il periodo narrativo tra la proposta di matrimonio e l'omicidio è la descrizione del suo processo spirituale di morte: fuga, esilio, solitudine, penitenza per una vita non vissuta.
Proprio come un sentiero di montagna ci offre una vista delle cime innevate e di panorami infinit... more Proprio come un sentiero di montagna ci offre una vista delle cime innevate e di panorami infiniti, la religione ci promette un'estasi gentile, una profonda connessione e una vita onesta.
La battaglia per i posseduti di Geel Non è intellettualmente giusto e storiograficamente non scie... more La battaglia per i posseduti di Geel Non è intellettualmente giusto e storiograficamente non scientifico giudicare situazioni, interpretazioni del passato con standard contemporanei, con una visione contemporanea. Quando facciamo cosi, il passato è manipolato per supportare il giusto o sbagliato etico, scientifico, politico di alcune intuizioni e strategie. Allora non si tratta della verità ma del potere. Il passato è ciò che sappiamo di esso attraverso l'uso delle fonti storiche. Tutto ciò che possiamo fare è lasciar parlare i fatti e, cercando le interrelazioni tra le diverse fonti, comprendere e descrivere meglio il fondo nascosto e profondo dei fatti noti.
La possessione demoniaca come crisi religiosa La chiesa ha insistito nel considerare il possesso ... more La possessione demoniaca come crisi religiosa La chiesa ha insistito nel considerare il possesso come una crisi religiosa. Sempre più teologi stanno nuovamente difendendo quella posizione. Concordo, con riserva. L'ideologia di fondo dell'esorcismo del 1614 è cruda e violenta. L'immagine di Dio espressa nelle preghiere e negli incantesimi è dell'Antico Testamento e patriarcale. Questo, naturalmente, corrispondeva allo stile di teologizzare del XVII secolo. La Chiesa allora non ha esitato a sfoggiare un dio onnipotente e onnisciente perché, nel sistema politico di allora, si è presentata come onnipotente, onnisciente e si è comportata di conseguenza. C'erano, inoltre, un'abbondanza di miracoli, che adornavano la chiesa dell'onnipotenza di Dio. C'erano le persecuzioni degli eretici e delle streghe che avrebbero dovuto chiarire al popolo l'unicità e il bigottismo dei suoi insegnamenti. Il rituale dell'esorcismo del 1614 trasuda questa teologia. La chiesa tratta il diavolo come un piccolo folletto che fugge da "un po' di acqua santa".
Bezetenheid als religieuze crisis De kerk stond erop om bezetenheid als een religieuze crisis te ... more Bezetenheid als religieuze crisis De kerk stond erop om bezetenheid als een religieuze crisis te benaderen. Meer en meer theologen verdedigen nu weer dat standpunt. Ik ben het daarmee eens, onder voorbehoud. De achterliggende ideologie van het exorcisme van 1614 is grof en gewelddadig. Het godsbeeld dat verwoordt wordt in de gebeden en bezweringen is oudtestamentisch en patriarchaal. Dat beantwoordde natuurlijk aan de stijl van theologiseren in de 17de eeuw. De kerk schrok er toen niet voor terug om met een almachtige, alwetende god te pronken omdat ze zichzelf, in het toenmalige staatsbestel, als almachtig en alwetend voorstelde en zich navenant gedroeg. Er waren bovendien een overvloed aan mirakels, die de kerk met gods almacht tooiden. Er waren de vervolgingen van ketters en heksen die de uniciteit en onverdraagzaamheid van haar leerstellingen moest duidelijk maken aan de bevolking. Het ritueel van het exorcisme van 1614 ademt deze theologie uit. De kerk behandelt de duivel als een kleine kabouter die voor een "beetje wijwater" op de vlucht slaat. Maar daardoor is het probleem van de bezetenheid niet opgelost. Het exorcisme is een doekje voor het bloeden. Zoals de massale terechtstellingen van heksen de volksgeneeskunde en de afwijkende opvattingen van de ketters en wetenschappers ook niet gestopt hebben. Het exorcisme was milder dan het heksenproces van de Inquisitie, dat op den duur door niemand meer aanvaard werd. Maar de psychologische crisissen, die inherent waren aan de toenmalige kerkelijke ideologie, bleven voortwoekeren. Je kan het vergelijken met de huidige tijd. Er bestaan veel behandelingen voor psychose en neurose, maar de frustraties, de burnouts , de maatschappelijke druk blijft bestaan en maakt slachtoffers, vooral onder hen die tijdens hun kinderjaren reeds getraumatiseerd waren. De fatalistische predestinatieleer, de alomtegenwoordigheid van de duivel en de angstwekkende voorstellingen van de eeuwige hellestraf lieten niet veel ruimte aan de verbeelding van de gelovigen. Ook wetenschappers geloofden daarin, misschien omdat ze moesten om te kunnen publiceren op gevaar voor hun leven. De humanist Erasmus () had trouwens veel vragen rond bezetenheid en exorcisme. Hier moet ook de stellingname van Johannes Wier vermeld worden. Johannes Wier, of Johann Weyer geboren in Grave (Noord-Brabant) en, van 1550 tot zijn dood, lijfarts van Willem, hertog van Kleef, Gulik en Berg is de geschiedenis ingegaan als een mythische figuur. Hij is een icoon van tolerantie geworden, door velen gezien als de voorloper van moderne psychiatrie vanwege zijn worsteling met de heksenprocessen en zijn kritische beschrijving van de op het eerste gezicht onverklaarbare fenomenen en gedragingen van de bezetenen, waarvoor hij een natuurlijke uitleg gaf. Hij geloofde niet in het bestaan van heksen die vrijwillig een pact met de duivel sloten; als mensen toegaven dat ze samenspanden met de duivel, was het als een gevolg van mentale zwakte (vooral veroorzaakt door melancholie) waardoor ze waanvoorstellingen hadden. De bezetenen waren slechts passieve slachtoffers van valse beelden die door de duivel waren ontworpen om de heksengekte te paaien en daarmee, bij uitbreiding, zijn eigen kracht. Wier verwerpt de waarheid van de duivelvoorstellingen en bevestigt dat die waanvoorstellingen crisissen veroorzaken.
Verhalen over geweldloosheid
Introduction to mimetic theory by analysing children stories. Original edition by autor.
A new method to read bible stories with children
Donald Trump, I may never get this image out of my brain. The multibillionare, the namesake of on... more Donald Trump, I may never get this image out of my brain. The multibillionare, the namesake of one of the sky crapers in New York, the symbol of human succes and prosperity, who was for four years the leader of one of the strongest nations of the world. He was'nt the friend of the journalists. The caricature artists had their hands full and the historicians can yet the next years search for him a place in the puzzle of the world history. It is difficult to estimate what where his real feelings and meanings. He carried a mask and for every moment he had the right answer for his voters much to the chagrin of is political opponents. To be honest, for my self-installeted nonviolent observation brain, he was e permanent temptation. It was difficult to see in him a real christian when he came outside his office the Bible in his hands, standing before the St. Johns Church, as a christian terrorist, as a young god. "Look at me, I'm a christian. You bastards-protesters, my God will punish you!" Paul Tillich writes about this kind of leaders:" They do not know what shall become of their deeds. And if we look to them in our attempts to grasp the future, we shall not know either; if we look to them, we shall always remain in darkness." (Shaking The Foundations, p.33) Donald Trump shows us and his citizens the wrong god. The god of rules and law, the God of the book of wrath, the god of control and punishment. We believe another God, a God of sinners, the God of love and compassion. Our God does'nt live in the books, not in the law and the rules, but in the depths of our longing heart. Trump's problem was: he was too dependant of the moneymakers, of the holdings, of the banks, from who he was the personification, the idol, the icon. Poor mister ex-president! Once he was a child, a boy, an adolescent. Maybe, as me, he dreamed of a better world, of hapiness for the poor. But the agenda of his days has strangled this tender voice in the depths of his heart. I hope, sometimes in the night or in a dream, he hear this voice, beyond his daily worries. He is a human too. As me he must die and give himself a justification of his life. I hope he can accept himself, embrace his poor life as it was. I hope that he shall experience the grace of a different God, who calls him to a new life, where he shall be free of all his capitalist dreams.
Shaking the foundations of the world In his sermon "Shaking the foundations of the world" (chapte... more Shaking the foundations of the world In his sermon "Shaking the foundations of the world" (chapter 1 in his book with the same tille) the great postwar protestant scholar Paul Tillich speaks about the devastations of the 2nd World War in Europe and Asia. He describes the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, of Berlïn and Dresden. He warns his fellow-christians for the apocalyptic results of the scientific revolution who is from now capable to dissolve and split the unifying forces in nature. He speeks as a modern prophet, with restrained anger. He asks with despair his public if we will be capable tho tame the forces of the scientist to reunite them in a constuctive unifying movement of the humanity, a project of salvation, of healing the wounds of the wounded people. For me, to be honest, the year 2020 was a period of big questions. The Covid-pandemy has changed the image of the world. Our lifestyle was a skeleton of our life before. No grandchildren, neighbours, friends on our tables. No anniversy parties in the garden and barbecues for the family. The majority of the people stayed relatively quiet under the strong state laws and penances. Only a small number of citizens protested again the privation of human rights. Silence about the many innocent dead victims. Modest applause on the rear benches fort the multitude of nurses and physicians who spend their forces to save the life of thousands of infected persons. And what did the scientific world again that blind corona-force that was splitting our communities, our own body in particles? What was their answer on this big challenge? The first answer was competition to be the first on the market with a suited vaccin. Economy dictate: The best stratregy to have good products for the best price is competition. In his monumental study on mimetic desire the American philosopher René Girard reveals the splitting, dividing forces of imitation and competition. Once this mechanism is on the rails nobody, no factory, no university, no nation, no state can stay free of the drive of this virus. Everyone becomes the enemy of everyone and the jealousy between the concurrents is without borders. To win the cup is the message and the end justifies the means. In a neoliberal society there are no tools to regulate this hard competition. It is a jungle, where survives the fittest, the strongest. Let me say, I doubt that we will have the best vaccins for the best prices. As I see the different standard factories and nations handle to produce the first vaccin, to be the first on the market, I am sure that we will not have the best product. As I see the different prices and the difference in prices for different clients for the vaccins I am sure that we will not have our vaccin for a "good", a just, honest price. Not the scientist will save our lives. They work all for the big pharmaceutic lobbies and holdings who are dividing the loot among themselves and who hold the governements in a stranglehold. And in the meantime they wear the mask of Santaclaus and present themselves as the benefactors of humanity. The second answer was to spread suspicions. In such urgent circumstances it is very simple for the governements to create scapegoats. There are indeed groups in every society who don't accept the norms, the laws, the autority of the state. Easy to call them super-spreaders of the virus and to make anxious people virulent enemies of these fellow-citizens. The covid-crise create a disappearence of differences and, so we learn of René Girard, no-difference is a trigger for irrrational violence. This violent mood search for guilties, "for irresponsable groups of asocial people who is guilty for the dissemination of the pandemy". The Chinese people, the Russians, the immigrants are guiltuy. This
When I was a child, I lived together in our home with my parents, my older brother, my younger si... more When I was a child, I lived together in our home with my parents, my older brother, my younger sisters and one or two guests, patients of the Colony of Geel, where my father worked as psychiatric nurse. For me it was a good time. We where a poor family but I had all the things I needed: a good family, neigbhour-friends to play with in the fields and on the streets. Now, the presence in our home of the strangers-guests I never experienced it as strange, or unique, or special. It was a part of our daily life because a part of our communal life in Geel. When I think now about guests in other families in my neigbourhood I become consciousness that there were many families who had no sicks. Our direct neigbour on the right was a farmer and I can't remember me there was a patient in hospice. There was a bicycle mechanic on the left and I am sure they had no guests, but they had seven children and no rooms enough for more persons. I had aunts and oncles, small farmers, with one or two cows, and a small piece of ground, and they had sick persons in house, two was the maximum for a Geel family. I remember them all. The first I remember was a young girl from Zeeland in Holland. I see her sitting on a chair, outside, to the wall of the storage in our garden, all the time bending over as a praying rabbi on the Jerusalem Wailing Wall. She was a nice girl from about sixteen years. She wore traditional Zeeland costume, a lace cap decorated with pearls and a long white cloth down to the ground. I never spoke one word to her. I don't remember I have ever seen her eyes. She was and stayed a stranger for me because there was no interaction, no empathy. Only compassion on my side. I remember Miel. He lived on the farm of my aunt in the Maju-fields. He never worked, because he was realy invalid. His hands and arms and body and legs were cramped, misformed. He walked as a baby, staggering on his legs, like a drunk man. I tried to talk with him. I remember he had a sense of humour. He never leaved the farm. No movie, no football in the Geel centre. He talked with me about the animals of the farm. He caressed the pig in the pen. That was his bst friend. He died in his guest-family and the name of his guest parents were printed on his obituary. He addressed them as "mother" and "father", because they were the only relatives he had. His own real family had forgotten him. They had dumped him in Geel. He was everytime friendly and in good mood. I remember once I saw him crying, when his cohousing patient Jul was died. We teased some sick guests, because we were children, and it was fine as young boys to have power on them. One of them was supersensible for the word "petrol". Whe he heard that word he shooted at the barrel, in panic, as he horse. It was'nt nice from our part, but without hostility.
Op zoek naar het DNA van een middeleeuwse legende
Oefenen op geweldloze communicatie met kinderen
Voor beginnende bibliodrama-begeleiders
Drafts by karel vanspringel
When I was a child, I lived together in our home with my parents, my older brother, my younger si... more When I was a child, I lived together in our home with my parents, my older brother, my younger sisters and one or two guests, patients of the Colony of Geel, where my father worked as psychiatric nurse. For me it was a good time. We where a poor family but I had all the things I needed: a good family, neigbhour-friends to play with in the fields and on the streets. Now, the presence in our home of the strangers-guests I never experienced it as strange, or unique, or special. It was a part of our daily life because a part of our communal life in Geel. When I think now about guests in other families in my neigbourhood I become consciousness that there were many families who had no sicks. Our direct neigbour on the right was a farmer and I can't remember me there was a patient in hospice. There was a bicycle mechanic on the left and I am sure they had no guests, but they had seven children and no rooms enough for more persons. I had aunts and oncles, small farmers, with one or two cows, and a small piece of ground, and they had sick persons in house, two was the maximum for a Geel family. I remember them all. The first I remember was a young girl from Zeeland in Holland. I see her sitting on a chair, outside, to the wall of the storage in our garden, all the time bending over as a praying rabbi on the Jerusalem Wailing Wall. She was a nice girl from about sixteen years. She wore traditional Zeeland costume, a lace cap decorated with pearls and a long white cloth down to the ground. I never spoke one word to her. I don't remember I have ever seen her eyes. She was and stayed a stranger for me because there was no interaction, no empathy. Only compassion on my side. I remember Miel. He lived on the farm of my aunt in the Maju-fields. He never worked, because he was realy invalid. His hands and arms and body and legs were cramped, misformed. He walked as a baby, staggering on his legs, like a drunk man. I tried to talk with him. I remember he had a sense of humour. He never leaved the farm. No movie, no football in the Geel centre. He talked with me about the animals of the farm. He caressed the pig in the pen. That was his bst friend. He died in his guest-family and the name of his guest parents were printed on his obituary. He addressed them as "mother" and "father", because they were the only relatives he had. His own real family had forgotten him. They had dumped him in Geel. He was everytime friendly and in good mood. I remember once I saw him crying, when his cohousing patient Jul was died. We teased some sick guests, because we were children, and it was fine as young boys to have power on them. One of them was supersensible for the word "petrol". Whe he heard that word he shooted at the barrel, in panic, as he horse. It was'nt nice from our part, but without hostility.
Een werkboek geweldloze communicatie met verhalen wereldwijd.
De jongens waren verbaasd, maar bleven gewoon verder spelen. En zo ging dat verder. Elke dag kwam... more De jongens waren verbaasd, maar bleven gewoon verder spelen. En zo ging dat verder. Elke dag kwam de boer buiten, gaf hen elke dag een munt meer en ging terug in huis. "Waarom geeft die man ons toch geld?" vroegen de jongens zich af. Maar de zesde dag kwam de boer niet buiten. De jongens kregen die dag geen cent. En ze gingen een beetje ontgoocheld naar huis. En de zevende, achtste, negende en tiende dag kwam de boer evenmin te voorschijn. En de elfde dag kwamen de jongens niet meer terug om te voetballen op het veld van die boer. Ze kwamen trouwens nooit meer terug. 1.2 Zachte moed tussen man en vrouw Een "geweld"-ig sprookje van Grimm Zomertuin en Wintertuin Een koopman moest op zakenreis. Voor zijn vertrek vroeg hij zijn drie dochters: "Wat wil je dat ik voor jullie meebreng van mijn reis?". Het sprookje begint met een idyllisch tafereel. Een lieve vader, die zijn lieve dochters moet achterlaten en hen vraagt welk geschenk hij wel voor hen zal meebrengen. Vertrekt hij met tegenzin? Hebben zijn dochter hem niet gezegd dat ze hem thuis willen hebben? In een andere versie van het verhaal wordt
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Papers by karel vanspringel
Drafts by karel vanspringel